Death and Blessings
by bearsrawesome
Summary: One-shot. Missing scene from Sleight of Hand. Reality dawns on D'Artagnan as he stands over Vadim and the Musketeers are there to help. Rated T for safety. No OC's.


**Hi, my first Musketeer fic! I've been reading loads of Musketeer fics and I was inspired! Please review and tell me if I write the characters okay! Enjoy! x**

D'Artagnan slowly rose to his feet, glowering darkly at the dead body of Vadim; still warm with life that had just left his lips in a defeated gasp. The boiling rage inside him began to simmer as he took a brief step back-his wet brown eyes never leaving the pallid corpse-as he fell back to the other Musketeers almost subconsciously. The wind was cold on his hot, clammy skin still sticky from exertion and the sweat that had accumulated because of it. He finally became aware of the aching in his wrists where the coarse rope had cut deep into the soft flesh leaving behind blackening wounds which were discoloured with bruising and the pounding in his skull emanating from a large lump on his forehead. Suddenly the noise of the dock turned to white noise and his vision blurred as his stomach rebelled and his knees gave way beneath him.

_He was alive._

After all that: the arrest, the escape, the deception that wasn't really a deception and then…the barrels; it was a wonder why the young Gascon was still breathing. It all suddenly caught up with D'Artagnan and he was sent careening toward the ground. His shoulder impacted first, sending sharp, agonising pain up his arm and his head thudded loudly on the ground as it collided with the dirty cobbles. There were cries as he landed but D'Artagnan could not understand their muffled words as he blinked slowly and looked out over the calm, grey waters beyond.

"D'Artagnan!" a voice pierced through the blanket of noise and D'Artagnan pushed himself upwards, shadows falling over him and helping him sit up.

Raising a hand up, D'Artagnan realised they were trembling violently and his body quivered in tandem and he frowned at the appendage before whispering disbelievingly "I'm alive…"

"Aramis, what's wrong with him?" Porthos' deep baritone broke over him as the man crouched down and tentatively touched D'Artagnan's quivering shoulder.

"I-I think he's gone into shock," Aramis bent down so that they were face to face before tilting his head to look into D'Artagnan's eyes and examine the cut on his forehead "He may have a bad concussion; this head injury looks substantial and he would have been out for a couple of hours."

Something caught Aramis' eye and he frowned quickly, before gently gripping the Gascon's wrists and pulling back his sleeves to reveal the bloody lacerations. D'Artagnan was vaguely aware of the others wincing and Porthos muttering a quiet profanity under his breath before there was a ripping sound and Athos handed Aramis a thick strip of cloth, obviously torn from his uniform. The dark haired youth raised his hands to refuse but one look from Aramis silenced the words before they had even formed on his tongue. Begrudgingly, he allowed the older man to tie the cloth around his wrists tightly with only a small flinch as the fraying fabric touched at the angry cuts.

"Give him some breathing room." Aramis commanded, pushing himself back a little but Athos-whom had been holding his shoulder to steady him-did not move away and continued to balance D'Artagnan as the Gascon's head fell limply against his chest; unable to hold its own weight.

D'Artagnan's eyelids fluttered weakly and he mumbled in a slur "M's-s'rry, 'Thos."

"You have nothing to apologise for, D'Artagnan; we are only thankful that our mission was completed and you are safe; just stay calm and we will take you home." Athos reassured him, his voice gentle and even and D'Artagnan clung to it; allowing his words to give him strength.

Eventually, the simple farm boy managed to push himself up onto shaky legs, a tight hold Athos' own arm to balance him as he rose and Porthos on the other side, arms out around him in case he fell once again.

"M'fine, P'thos." D'Artagnan tried to swallow but his mouth produced no moisture and he tried to control his breathing "I…he…I can't believe...I almost…died…"

Deciding to focus on something else, D'Artagnan adjusted his footing and glanced around at his friends; taking in the dirty and dishevelled exterior, their faces coated in grime and dust and their clothes torn and marked. They all bore signs of a recent fight, cuts and bruises where there were none before and they all looked exhausted-Athos especially-with dark shadows underneath their concerned dark eyes.

"Wh't happ'nd to you? Are you injured?"

Aramis allowed a small, weak smile to grace his handsome features and sniffed "Better than you; a few scrapes and bruises, nothing more."

"Nothing we can't handle," Porthos added with his own more cheery grin and D'Artagnan managed to smirk back.

"Vadim deceived you; he did not wish to assassinate the King, merely rob him blind. We were pursuing him when he reached the cellar and a timed explosion broke down the walls. We were caught in the blast."

D'Artagnan looked back at him in disbelief "You mean…that…you too?"

"I'm afraid you aren't making much sense at the minute, lad." Aramis said half-jokingly, though it was clear from the glint in his eye that he was fearful that D'Artagnan's head injury was affecting his speech.

"Sorry…sorry. I mean, he almost blew you up too?"

Athos frowned in confusion and the other two glanced between one another "You were almost caught in the explosion?"

"Not exactly," D'Artagnan winced at the memory at his thudded a little bit louder in his chest "He…tied me to the gunpowder barrels and set the fuse. I cut my wrists trying to break free and I stopped the first fuse but when I opened the door..."

Porthos nodded in understanding "He set up more fuses to alight in case you escaped."

D'Artagnan's head bobbed feebly and his gaze dropped to the floor, closing his eyes as he fought back a wave of nausea and the event replayed in his head…

…_opening the door and feeling the relief of freedom then the sparks flew and the floor hissed with a dozen fiery snakes that sparked and spat grey, choking smoke in the air; blinding D'Artagnan and making his lungs ache as all around him roared the sound of inevitable death as the time ticked away. The realisation as D'Artagnan frantically hurled the door open and pulled his belongings tight to his chest, sprinting blindly into the greyness with no idea what awaited him on the other side of the wall of smoke. The moment of deafening silence before the world erupted into a bruising boom that rattled D'Artagnan's bones and sent him flying into the sand; making the stone around him rumble and shake with the threat of collapse. The fear as he rolled over, blinking the burning ash from his eyes and watched the cracks spreading across the ceiling about to free a mountain of rock that would crush the life from his battered body and leave him an unrecognisable corpse buried beneath the crumbling streets of Par-_

A sharp sting erupting across his cheek as his head whipped sideways "D'Artagnan!"

It took the Gascon a few moments to realise he was hyperventilating and even longer to come to the conclusion that Aramis had slapped him. Porthos was staring at his best friend like the man was insane and seemed on the verge of yelling at him as Aramis gripped D'Artagnan's shoulders and gave him a quick, vigorous shake.

"Snap out of it! Just breathe! You're alright; you're not going to die!"

"Aramis, I hardly think beating him is constructive." Athos snapped quietly but his attention seemed solely on D'Artagnan as he regained control of himself.

"No…thanks, Aramis…I needed that."

"My pleasure."

Somehow that one blow had been enough to bring D'Artagnan back to the present and the Gascon straightened up as strength ebbed back into his body. Although he was still quaking noticeably, D'Artagnan felt more at peace as he gently pulled his arm from Athos' grip and pushed a smile onto his pale face.

"I'm okay, now. I…just need a minute."

The others looked between one another doubtfully "Are you certain? You said that before and almost collapsed again; I would rather not see you fall and injure yourself more seriously."

Porthos scoffed jokingly "I'd rather not be the one who has to lug him home."

"Don't worry, Athos…I'm getting better." D'Artagnan continued, sending Porthos a slightly dirty look as he spoke.

Aramis smiled brightly, flashing his pearly teeth before spinning around and bending down next to Vadim and pulling up his shirt to see the wound beneath "Nice sword work here, D'Artagnan."

"I hardly think saying he's getting better at killing people is what he needs right now, Aramis."

Porthos looked over at Athos with a raised eyebrow "It is when they're terrorists…or thieves...which is he again?"

"A criminal." D'Artagnan replied coldly, allowing his gaze to rest on the body that died by his own hand before looking back up again "Nothing more, nothing less."

"I wish he was alive just so I could run him through again…or shove that coin of his down his throat…or tie him to a few barrels of gunpowder."

Porthos strode over to Aramis and gave the lifeless corpse a quick, hard kick so that he rolled slightly.

The other Musketeers did nothing to stop the abuse as Athos stated "I would have liked to see him swing from the hangman's noose; he deserves no special execution."

"You're not going to pray for his soul or anything?"

Aramis chuckled humourlessly "Hardly, I hope he goes straight to Hell. People like him need to learn: you mess with one of us; you mess with all of us."

"Couldn't have said it better myself." Porthos grinned and the two glanced back to D'Artagnan who blushed slightly in embarrassment and felt the last of his shudders fade away.

"Let's go; we still have to explain to Mousieur Bonisseur the reasons behind our behaviour last night and the Lady Constance will wish to know that D'Artagnan is safe and unharmed." Athos interrupted the others and gently pushed D'Artagnan round so that he was facing the street and nodded for the others to follow "I will remain here to take care of Vadim once and for all. Porthos, please send a message to Treville of our success and return to him the items he stole."

"'Course, Athos; as soon as D'Artagnan's back at the house I'll head to the garrison."

"I'm not a child, you know; I can get back to my house all by myself. I just had a…wobbly moment."

Aramis' hands finished detaching the pouch of trinkets from Vadim's belt as he tossed the priceless items to Porthos' waiting hands "I don't think I've ever hear a grown man describe himself as having had a 'wobbly moment' before."

"Shut up."

Porthos clapped D'Artagnan on the back "Come on then, D'Artagnan; I don't know about you but I can't wait to climb into a nice, warm bed."

"You mean go the bar and get drunk?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The two broke into laughter as they walked away and Aramis moved to follow them until Athos caught his arm "Take care of him."

"Do you even need to ask?" Aramis smiled brightly at Athos before his expression became more serious and he offered him an affirmative nod.

Athos replied with his own in kind and removed his hand from his friend's arm; allowing the younger man to place a grounding hand on his shoulder as he hesitated to pass "He's alive, Athos. He made it. You and I both know we shouldn't underestimate him; I get the feeling that one day, that simple Gascon farm boy is going to surpass us."

With that Aramis moved swiftly onward, knowing he would receive no reply from the surly Athos. Now alone, Athos allowed the cool breeze of the docklands to wash over him and sucked in a deep breath of cold fresh air as a bell from one of the ships rang throatily through the open space. Carefully, the weary Musketeer knelt down beside Vadim's pallid face and blue tinged lips; examining the face that had almost cost all of them a lot of pain and misery before resting his hand on the dead man's still chest.

"Thank you…thank you for playing your game, for allowing him to live. Mine is the only blessing you will receive."

Noticing the dull, golden coin in the man's open palm, Athos gently picked it up, twirling it in his fingers as he let his fingers caress the worn metal. With a sigh, Athos stood, casting Vadim one single dismissive look before burying the gold piece deep in his pockets, beneath the folds of clothing. No longer would he have but one reminder to hold on to; no sad locket to stare into and feel the guilt and sadness consume him. Now he had something to stare at and remind him just how lucky he was.


End file.
